


Pomum

by NancyBrown



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Archaeology, Crossover, Gen, Indiana Jones Can't Have All The Fun, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenny's searching for the apple. Yes, that one. And that one as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pomum

**Author's Note:**

> Written for halfamoon 2015.

Her sources contradict one another, and Jenny is sick of the ambiguity about what sounds like an afternoon snack. Still, she believed Corbin's notes enough to agree to this, travelling through Anatolia by bus then Jeep then by her own boots. It's not a temple. It's barely a crack in the side of a steep cliff, revealed last year by an earthquake. She grunts and shoves herself into the asymmetrical, skinny opening, aware all the while that should she trap her arm or leg, no one knows she's here.

The crack opens up inside into a cave, dark and arid. Whatever drips formed this hollow, they ran dry centuries ago, perhaps millennia. Her flashlight illuminates the space, the crude paintings along the walls. No ancient hunters these, but worshippers of some god or gods Jenny neither wishes to know about nor piss off.

There's an arch off one side, covered in mother of pearl. Jenny shines her light everywhere else first, snapping a few quick photos. Another earthquake, and this place will be lost forever. She doesn't have much faith in archaeologists. Part of her hopes they'll find it anyway.

Her flashlight picks out footprints on the ground leading through the archway. Jenny examines them silently: the boot tread and size, and the fact that none are coming out of the inner room. She gets her gun out.

With her softest step, she makes her way through the arch and down the dark, narrow corridor. At the end of the passage, light dances. An old-fashioned torch, perhaps. Someone has found her prize first. She could come in shooting, she could come in threatening to shoot, she could stand out here in ambush, she could walk away.

Before she can make her choice, a musical voice echoes out, teasing and a bit sardonic. "Are you going to stand out there all day?"

She freezes. She can still make a run for it, though the tight entrance will hold her back long enough for the woman inside to shoot her without a problem.

"I don't bite. Unless you ask nicely."

She lets out an exasperated breath. She hates when the other treasure hunters pull the flirting routine. Clearly she's been spotted. She steps into the inner room, then blinks at the light sparkling in her eyes.

"Polished bronze," says the woman, catching her discomfort. "Nice work. A few torches, and it's as bright as Wembley Stadium in here."

She's blonde, built, and has what appears to be amazingly curly hair bound back in a bulging tie. She's smiling at Jenny, in a manner that suggests she's sizing her up in various fashions. In her gloved hand, she holds Jenny's prize, lifted from its small wooden dais.

"You can touch it if you want, but be careful."

"Thanks, no." Jenny knows the legends. She brought a bag lined with lead and blessed by every holy person she could dig up.

She appears to have passed a test. The woman nods. "Good choice. You know, the myths all disagree what the fruit is. Apple, fig, date, it doesn't matter. This appears in story after story, giving knowledge and raging jealousy and sending princesses to sleep." She brings it to her face like she might take a bite herself. "What do you think, Miss Mills?"

Jenny's no amateur. She doesn't have to ask how the woman knows her name. The most mysterious parlor tricks have the simplest solutions. "You asked someone who I was during my trip here."

"Not a bad guess." She shrugs, then drops the piece of fruit into a bag of her own.

Jenny raises her gun. "You're not leaving here with that."

"And you were proving so intelligent up until now."

"Just hand over the apple or whatever, and we're fine."

A sad expression crosses the woman's face. "I don't think we would be. You're here. You know the stories, too. Can you imagine what would happen if this were to be released upon the world again? Now?"

She can. "That's why I'm here. That item needs to be placed in safe hands."

"Yours? Mine? Jenny, there are no safe hands on Earth. Humans can't go near it without succumbing. Even the last owners knew enough to shut it safely away where none could find it."

"You're here."

"Yes, and thanks to the apple's influence, I am resisting the urge to kill you where you stand. Even with it locked inside my bag. Even knowing how badly that would end for everyone." Her breath catches. Something about the sad sound of her voice, the regretful slump of her shoulders, tells Jenny she's in more danger than she thought. She flicks her safety off.

The woman watches her. "I have a place where I can take it, far from here, far from where it can hurt anyone."

"If I let you go past. And then you can sell it to the highest bidder."

"Actually, you don't have to do a thing. I'm leaving, and no, I'm not selling."

Jenny bars the doorway. "I can't afford to believe you. You're right, if the wrong people get their hands on that apple, or whatever it is, people will suffer and die. That's why … "

"… why you wanted to get here first." She smiles widely. "Oh, I'm glad. I'm so glad. I assign my students a paper about you every semester, and I've read all the notes, but there's nothing quite like a primary source. Good luck, Jenny Mills. You're going to need it." She taps the leather band on her wrist, and vanishes in a flash of light.

Jenny blinks harder against the sudden light flashing in the bronze and spilling out into the corridor. Maybe the woman ran past her after the flash. But she's been blocking the door. Jenny dashes out, to see the narrow gap out to the valley. No woman struggling to get through, no noise of struggle or flight from outside.

She goes back inside, exploring the inner and outer caves thoroughly, but there are no more passages in the rock. The woman is gone, and so is the fruit of good and evil.

Jenny swears, and the expletive bounces back to her.

Something glimmers in the reflected torchlight, the torches the woman must have lit herself. Jenny bends down. Half covered by dirt, or intentionally half-buried by someone, a golden crown lays practically at her feet. Mindful of the hazards associated with the kinds of items she recovers, Jenny dons her gloves. As she brings it to her eyes, she recognizes the elegant style. It is the wreath of Hera's Diadem. The gold is real. She can find out if the myths are, as well.

Not a bad find, she thinks, stowing the crown into her bag. The other woman must not have noticed. That doesn't seem right. There is a second dais beside the first, where this might have fallen from, or been dropped.

Too many mysteries for one day, and the light outside is fading, which will make her walk back to the Jeep a pain in the butt. With a last few flashes of her camera, Jenny shimmies out. The narrow valley already peers closely to night, allowing the faintest stars to shine. Curious, she pulls out her prize, wondering if there's enough light from the Milky Way to dust over the gold.

The diadem glows faintly in her hands.

Not a bad consolation prize at all. She'll have to write this one down.

***  
The End  
***


End file.
